Daddy Long Stroke

“Gee’s dumb ass,” I say, peepin’ these two Oriental broads as they walk into the lounge, carryin’ a buncha bags. Both of ’em are rockin’ stilettoes and designer bags. I wonder if them shits are real, or knockoffs. I bet they own a buncha weave ’n wig shops or nail salons, too. I peep the bling ’round their necks and in their lobes, grinnin’. Damn, they right, I think, eyein’ ’em as they go over to the complimentary gift wrap station. I always heard Asian hoes—well, Akina doesn’t count since she’s mixed wit’ black— have some nice tight pussies, and seein’ these two sexy chicks got me wantin’ to sample a few. I try to imagine what they gonna look like in another ten years; try to figure out why the hell most of ’em age so damn hard. I make a mental note to get at a young dish of full-blooded Sushi the first chance I get. “You know that nigga can’t keep shit on the low. I don’t know why I even told his gossipin’ ass, any-damn-way. I feel like bitch slappin’ him when I see his ass.”

“So what’s good wit’ you and baby girl? Did that nigga fuck things up for you?”

“Man, listen. You don’t even wanna know. She tried to get on some ole Mike Tyson shit, throwin’ punches and bitin’ up a muhfucka.”

He laughs. “Daaaaaaaaaam, son, she did you like that?”

“Yeah, and I had to lump the ho up.”

“You did what?”

“You heard me, nigga. I knotted her dome up.”

“Damn, nigga, I can’t believe you punched her in her head.”

“Believe it,” I tell him, shiftin’ in my seat. Another call is comin’ through. It’s a blocked number.

“Yo, hold on a minute.” I click over. “Yo?” Someone’s on some dumb shit, breathin’ in the phone. I click back over to Mike. We talk a few more minutes ’bout that situation, then flip back to All-Star weekend. He gives me a rundown of all the happenin’s to expect. In my head, I’m thinkin’, this shit can wait, but I let him yap. The nigga sounds all excited ’n shit ’bout it. I’m like, whatever. We decide to meet up after the holidays, then hang up. I glance at my watch, sighin’. It’s six-fuckin’-thirty! This is some straight bullshit, I think, flippin’ open my phone. “Yo, Ma, how much longer you gonna be?”

She sighs. “I’m walkin’ out of Macy’s now. Meet me by the entrance we came in at.”

“Aiight,” I say, gettin’ up and scoopin’ up the bags. Of course, I get to the entrance before she does. Fifteen minutes later, here she comes wit’ a shitload of bags. And I know most of what she’s bought is shit she doesn’t even need. I smile, shakin’ my head. “I thought I was gonna haveta send out the robo cops to look for you. What’s in all them bags?”

She bucks her eyes at me, like I’m stuck on retarded or some shit. “Gifts, what else?”

“Aiight, Ma,” I say, holdin’ open the door for her. “Let’s roll.”

“I’m starving,” she says as she walks out the door. “I need to grab something to eat.”

“Oh, aiight. We can pick something up on our way home.”

She stops in front of Legal Sea Foods. “Umm, no, I want to eat here.”

“Aww, Ma, c’mon. You killin’ me. We’ve been out all day. And it looks packed as hell in there.”

“And your point?”

I shake my head. “Aiight, Ma, you got that. Let me go put all these bags in the car.”

“Good answer,” she says. “I’ll go in and get our table.”

I laugh to myself, decidin’ she’s purposely tryna keep me out. But it’s all good. It gives me a chance to spend the whole day wit’ the only beauty who has my heart, real talk.

“Merry Christmas, Sweetheart,” Ma says. I glance at the digital clock. It’s almost seven in the mornin’.

I smile. “Merry Christmas, Ma. You up mighty early.”

“I’m gettin’ ready to head over to your Aunt Brenda’s house to help finish up cooking. Everyone’s meeting over there to exchange gifts and have breakfast.”

“I thought e’eryone usually got together for Christmas dinner?”

“This year we decided to have a breakfast instead of dinner, so this way everyone gets to have the rest of the day with their own families. And we won’t have to worry about anyone getting drunk. ’Cause you know how your aunts and uncles get when there’s booze around.”

I laugh, knowin’ them lushes would drink toilet water, if it’d get ’em drunk. “Ma, you know like I do, breakfast or not, they gonna come strapped wit’ flasks.”

She laughs. “And you’re probably right. But I got something for all their asses. I’m gonna be checking bags, coats, and pocketbooks as everyone comes through the door, and confiscating anything that contains alcohol in it.”

I join in her laughter. “Sounds like it’s gonna be a full house.”

“You got that right; close to forty. Your cousin Dana and her family are here from Hawaii. And Brian and his are in from London.”

“Wow, I haven’t seen them in years,” I say, sittin’ up in bed. Dana ran off to the army at eighteen, retired at thirty-eight and has made her home in Hawaii. She’s married to a retired army captain and has four children. Her brother, Brian, is also retired from the army and has lived in London for almost ten years with his wife and six children.

Between my moms’ four sisters and her three brothers, she has ’bout twenty-two nieces and ten nephews. And nine of ’em popped outta Aunt Brenda’s box. Then there’s like forty-seven great-nieces and nephews. Although most of ’em no longer live in Jersey, it’s still too damn many of ’em; especially for a muhfucka like me who ain’t used to havin’ a buncha kids and noise around.

“Are you coming over? Everyone’s been asking about you, and they’d love to see you.”

Hell no! I ain’t beat for all them muhfuckas so early in the mornin’. The last time I went to a family function, Moms’ sister Ella got pissy drunk and snatched off their other sister’s wig, then tossed it into the punch bowl. Man, listen…Aunt Betty was hot! She turned ’round and tossed her drink in Aunt Ella’s face, then they got to cursin’ each other out, airin’ out each other’s dirt. By the time they finished, we knew that Aunt Betty used to sneak outta the house and fuck white men on the railroad tracks for money when they were growin’ up, and Aunt Ella had four abortions. And two of ’em were ’cause she was fuckin’ their sister Lanette’s husband for almost four years. Uncle Benny almost shitted in his drawers when she spilled the beans. And Aunt Ella’s husband, Larry, jumped up and started hookin’ off on Benny. They tossed Aunt Betty’s crib up.

“Tell e’eryone I said hello, and that I send my love. But, I’ma haveta sit this one out.”

“Boy, and you sat last year’s out as well.”

“Yep, I sure did,” I say, laughin’. “Just make sure you pack me a plate.”

“Yeah, I’ll pack you a plate alright, smart ass. Are you stopping by tonight for dinner?”

“And you know it. I wouldn’t miss it.”

“Well, then, I’ll see you later on tonight. Love you.”

“I love you, too,” I say, smilin’. I get outta bed, take a piss, then jump back in bed ready to go back to sleep. But the phone keeps ringin’. Falani calls, then Maleeka, then Electra, then Vita—all of ’em hittin’ a muhfucka up to bring holiday cheer. By the time I get off the phone, I have invitations from all four hoes to come through for some pussy. My cell rings, again. Fuck! I sigh, pickin’ it up off the dresser and glancin’ at the screen. I accept the call.

“Merry Christmas, baby,” Cherry cheerfully sings into the phone the minute I answer.

“Same to you,” I say, yawnin’. “How you?”

“Horny as hell,” she says. “I need another dose of that good stuff.”

I laugh. “Damn, you feenin’ like that?”

“Yeah, I don’t know what’s going on with me. Ever since you left, my kitty box has been purring for that long, chocolate bone.”

“Yeah,” I say, slippin’ my hands down into my basketball shorts. “What kitty wanna do wit’ it?”

“She wants to sit on it, ride it. Fuck it ’til she weeps and aches.”

“Oh, word?”

She moans.

“Yo, stop that ’fore you get my dick hard.”

She laughs. “Oh, it’s not hard?”

“Nah,” I lie. But the shit’s rock solid. I squeeze it. “But if you keep talkin’ slick, it will be.”

“I’m already slick…slippery wet, thinking about all the nasty things I wanna do to you.”